


out of bounds

by Anonymous



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Abuse, BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Dom/sub, Extremely Dubious Consent, Gangbang, Humiliation, M/M, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Spanking, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 20:40:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29249679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: There’s a nervous tremor in Ian’s voice as he turns his head, trying to pinpoint Mickey’s location beneath the blindfold.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Ian Gallagher/Original Male Character(s)
Kudos: 32
Collections: Anonymous





	out of bounds

**Author's Note:**

> written for a friend ages ago and posting here on their request. 
> 
> **please heed the warnings** \- this is literally just gangbang porn with extremely dubious consent (especially between Mickey and Ian), so if that's not your thing, please give this a miss.

“Mick?”

There’s a nervous tremor in Ian’s voice as he turns his head, trying to pinpoint Mickey’s location beneath the blindfold. Perched on the back of the booth, Mickey doesn’t bother helping him out — he’s here, what more does Ian need to know? — and just takes another drag on his cigarette as the rest of the men file into the room.

The room’s the biggest one the club had but with seven dudes crammed in there, not counting Mickey and Ian, it’s starting to feel crowded. Ian’s kneeling on the low table generally reserved for strippers and whores while a handful of the men settle in the private booth surrounding it, the rest standing at the edge with dicks already in hand.

With the mirrors lining the walls, Mickey has a good all-around view of the punishment that’s about to be delivered and he stubs the cigarette out before doing his best imitation of a starter’s whistle. “Whenever you’re ready, boys.”

“Mick-”

Ian’s protest is silenced by a hard slap to the face by a tall Italian-looking dude with slicked back hair. Mickey has no idea what the men are called but he dubs that one ‘Grease’ as the same guy grabs Ian by the jaw to help him keep his balance and pulls him up higher on his knees. 

“Guess it’s our lucky day,” Grease taunts. “I heard you were good at sucking cock, kid.”

Ian’s cheeks go pink and he stammers, “S-Sure?”

He flinches in surprise when Grease slaps him again but doesn’t get chance to say anything else when Grease grips his hair and drags his face down to his crotch. He isn’t quite hard yet but a couple of slaps of his cock against Ian’s cheeks soon solves that and Mickey grins when he shoves his way in past Ian’s parted lips. 

Ian gags on it, pulling back with a cough, and Mickey calls, “Come on, Gallagher. You telling me you spent all those years giving $10 blowjobs in back alleys and can’t even deepthroat right?”

The blush on Ian’s cheeks deepens but Mickey can’t tell whether he’s actually trying or whether Grease just isn’t giving him the option to pull back as he forces his way in again. Ian’s choked noises are brief this time as Grease buries himself to the hilt in his mouth, balls resting against Ian’s chin and Ian’s nose mashed against his stomach. 

Grease groans as he moves with shallow thrusts, holding Ian’s head and fucking his throat, and when he finally pulls back to give him some air, Mickey smirks at the spit and slime that trails from Ian’s mouth as he gasps for breath.

With Ian’s mouth otherwise engaged, a couple of the guys in the booth slide forward, hands roaming over Ian’s bare legs and thighs. The bigger of the two, a built black dude with short dreads, who Mickey imaginatively dubs ‘Dreads’, plants one knee on the table and works two fingers inside Ian’s hole without preamble. 

He’s slick already, prepped and ready on Mickey’s instructions like an obedient whore, and Dreads slides knuckle-deep with ease. 

“Damn,” he rumbles, moving his fingers inside him in a way that makes Ian moan around the dick in his mouth. “Looks like you’re ready to get right to it.”

Mickey lights another cigarette. “Ain’t like I invited you all here to fuck around with foreplay,” he points out. “Get to it.”

Dreads laughs but kneels up on the table behind Ian anyway, working his cock free and lining it up with his hole. “Yes, boss.”

He’s a big dude with a cock to match and based on Ian’s strangled yelp, even the lube doesn’t full ease the way when he forces his way inside. His big hands grip Ian’s hips, strong fingers digging in to leave bruises in their wake, and Ian moans again past the cock filling his throat as Dreads begins to fuck him roughly. 

It’s like watching a dude go to town on a blow-up doll, the way Dreads manhandles him back onto his cock and drives home again and again. Ian’s knees barely touch the tables sometimes as Dreads lifts him to the right height and Mickey watches his arms shake with the effort of holding himself up as the two men drive into him from both ends. 

“Come on, army,” he mocks. “What’s the point of all those pull-ups if you can’t even stay upright to take some cock?”

The little choked noise of humiliation Ian makes goes right to his dick and Mickey rubs himself absently through his pants as he sits back to enjoy the show. The other men are starting to get involved, with the blond guy (‘Blondie’) pinching Ian’s nipples hard enough to make him cry out in pain and a guy with tattoos covering half his neck (‘Tattoos’) poking sharply at Ian’s bare feet. 

Tattoos slips what looks like a small coin on a leather strap off from around his neck and Mickey raises his eyebrows when he swings it hard against Ian’s foot. Ian howls in pain as the leather and metal whips against his sole, not enough to break the skin, just enough to hurt like hell, and he pulls back off Grease’s cock as he looks back to Tattoos in panic. “What-”

He cries out again when Tattoos brings the coin down again, this time on the other foot, but gets a hard backhand to his cheek from Grease in response. 

“Did I tell you to take my cock out of your mouth?” Grease snaps and slaps him again when Ian stammers out a response.

“N-no, sir. Sorr-”

He chokes again when Grease shoves back in, clearly not caring about Ian’s comfort or breathing as he fucks his throat at speed. In the mirror, Mickey can see the red marks rising on Ian’s cheeks but his attention is held by the bulge of Grease’s cock in Ian’s throat. Grease grunts, holding Ian’s hair tight enough to hurt as he gets closer to completion, and Ian chokes again when Grease finally comes, spilling deep in his throat.

“Swallow, slut,” Grease orders. “I don’t want to see a drop spilled.”

Mickey can’t see Ian’s eyes but can read the wretchedness in his expression anyway as he nods and gulps, drinking down Grease’s come until the man steps back, satisfied. He gets another slap for good measure anyway and Ian isn’t given more than a second’s respite before the biggest dude in the room steps up and fills his mouth again.

“Yo,” Mickey calls, tossing a sharpie over to Grease, “keep a record, will ya?”

Laughing, Grease nods and draws the first tally mark between Ian’s shoulders, before adding a ‘I heart cock’ scrawl on his upper arm. 

Chuckles break out around the room, punctuated by grunts and the wet sound of Ian getting filled from both ends. He’s rocked between Dreads and the big dude, who Mickey nicknames Tubbs, pushed forward to have his throat stuffed full then dragged back until Dreads’ balls slap against him, and Mickey watches in satisfaction when Ian shudders as Dreads comes. 

He pulls out a moment later with a sated sigh, and Mickey watches the way Ian’s stretched pink hole struggles to close up as thick globs of come go trickling out down his shaking thighs. He looks exhausted already but after everything Ian did, Mickey can’t summon up much sympathy as he says, “Get it together, Gallagher. We’ve barely started yet.”

Dreads snatches up the sharpie, adding a tally and writing ‘Whore’ along Ian’s ribs, before slumping back in the booth and nodding to Blondie. “All yours, man. I know how much you love sloppy seconds.”

“Fuck you,” Blondie says without malice but takes his place behind Ian anyway. “Man, I could use a drink.”

“Have him get them,” a short dark-haired guy pipes up.

Mickey shrugs. “Why the hell not,” he says, and stretches out a leg to give Ian a kick on the thigh. “Hey, princess, finish up with that dick in your mouth and go get us some beers.”

Ian shivers but nods, still sucking hard on the cock filling his throat. His head bobs quickly, cheeks hollowing as he pulls back and sucks, and Mickey grins when Tubbs slides free with a wet pop before jerking himself to completion all over Ian’s face. “Beautiful.”

Ian hesitates, still naked and with come now painting his cheeks, and Mickey allows him one small mercy. “You can take the blindfold off, dumbass. Now hurry up with those beers.”

Tattoos plants his boot against Ian’s ribs, shoving hard enough to knock him off the table and Ian tugs the blindfold off as he stumbles to his feet. He looks pitiful as he glances back at Mickey, clearly hoping for some kind of mercy, but Mickey just smirks at him. “Come on, it’s not like it’s anything the punters haven’t seen before. I don’t think there’s a single dude in this city who hasn’t seen everything you have to offer.”

“Mickey…”

“Wait a second,” Tubbs says, retrieving the sharpie. “Almost forgot.” He towers over Ian as he moves behind him to add a tally to his back, and then tilts his face towards him. “Hold still.”

Mickey laughs at the crudely drawn cock which Tubbs adds to Ian’s cheek but gestures for him to leave as soon as it’s done. 

The room is quiet in Ian’s absence, the men chatting and laughing amongst themselves as they discuss future ideas. Ian is gone for a while, enough that Mickey almost thinks he’s abandoned the agreed punishment and bolted, but when he returns, it’s with a tray full of cold beers, a fresh smear of come on his chin, and a fourth tally mark on his back.

Mickey makes a note to give the bartender a tip on his way out.

Ian offers the beers to the men, setting the tray and the remaining beers on the back of the booth, and he gets back on his knees on the table. The submission is almost painful to watch, especially from someone like Ian, but Mickey pushes down any regrets as he says, “Y’know, I didn’t think you’d all go this easy on him. Didn’t realise I recruited a bunch of pussies.”

Laughing, a skinny guy with bruised knuckles eases his belt out of his pants as he says, “Calm your tits, Milkovich. We’re just warmin’ up.” Bruiser swings the belt through the air and then makes his way behind Ian to land a firm smack to his ass.

Ian yells, shuffling forward on the table to try to avoid further strikes, but Bruiser just rolls his eyes. “Ass up, slut. You didn’t think you were just gonna fuck your way out of this, right?”

Ian’s eyes are wide with panic when he looks up at Mickey but when Mickey doesn’t respond, he just settles back on his hands and knees, lip caught between his teeth. “Please…”

Whatever he’s begging for, neither Mickey or Bruiser provide it as the belt comes down again and again. Ian cries out, writhing under the blows of the belt, and Mickey tries to ignore the twist of guilt as tears well in Ian’s eyes and bright red welts begin to litter his ass and thighs.

“Someone shut him up,” Bruiser says. “Put a cock in that damn mouth so I don’t have to hear him bitching.”

The short dude complies and while having Shortstack’s cock in his throat does muffle some of the noise, it doesn’t mute Ian’s cries entirely. Bruiser keeps going, working down Ian’s thighs and laying blow after blow over his raised ass, until the come still covering his face is joined by tears rolling down his cheeks. For his part, Shortstack doesn’t seem bothered by the disturbance, petting Ian’s hair in a mockery of comfort as he teases, “That’s a good boy. Take your discipline like a good whore, hmm?”

Bruiser finally stops when Shortstack pulls out, and Mickey winces in sympathy when Shortstack wrenches Ian’s head back to come in thick stripes in his eyes and nose. Ian pulls back as soon as he releases him, coughing and spluttering as he tries to wipe the come away, but Tattoos just kicks him again to drop him to his side. 

Another tally mark follows, and Bruiser whistles happily to himself as he shoves Ian over onto his back and writes in the middle of his chest, “Please beat me, I deserve it.”

Sore and breathless, Ian barely moves from where he’s been shoved. His cock is half-hard against his thigh but the men mostly ignore it as they circle him like wolves. 

“Damn, he’s a mess,” Blondie taunts. “I think we should clean him up a bit.”

Not waiting for permission, he grabs a spare bottle of beer and upends it over Ian’s face with a grin. With his eyes still partially glued shut from Shortstack’s come, Ian jolts at the sudden splash and chokes when Blondie pours the beer into his mouth and then over his hair. He gags, coughing up spit and beer and come, and tries to wipe his face clean as he looks up helplessly at Mickey. “Please…”

The men just laugh at the plea and Mickey tamps down the urge to help him as Ian is flipped onto his back again. Bruiser is on him again, belt in hand, but rather than a further beating, he cinches it tight around Ian’s wrists to trap his arms behind his back. 

“Who’s up next?” Bruiser asks, fisting a hand in his wet hair to drag a soaked and shivering Ian back up to his knees. “Who wants to make the pillow princess actually work for some dick for once?”

More laughter and Blondie sits forward, pulling his dick out of his pants. “Here. Come ride me, whore.”

With his wrists bound, Ian struggles to keep his balance as he makes his way across the slick tabletop to straddle Blondie’s lap. This close, Mickey can smell the beer and come and sweat coating his skin, and he tries not to look too closely at the tears running down Ian’s cheeks when he lowers himself onto Blondie’s cock and starts to ride.

The steady rhythm is familiar, as are the undulating movements of Ian’s body as he slides himself up and down on Blondie’s dick, but far from the titillation of dancing, Ian just seems desperate to make this as quick and efficient as possible. His legs tremble from the exertion and without his hands to steady himself, it’s clearly an effort for him to stay upright as the other men splash him with beer and land cruel slaps to his already bruised ass.

“Come on, whore,” Dreads calls. “Faster!”

“Spread your legs,” Tubbs grunts. “Let us look at you.”

Ian struggles to obey, still dripping with come and beer, and he yelps in surprise when Blondie shoves him backward to land hard on the table behind him. Without taking his cock out of his ass, Blondie follows him forward, gripping Ian’s hips and pumping into him with brutal force as Ian wraps his legs around his hips and tries to meet his thrusts. 

“That’s it,” Blondie grunts. “Take it all, you fucking slut. Tell me how much you love it.”

“I love it,” Ian says, arching on the table, his cock slowly hardening from the stimulation. “I love your cock in my ass, sir. Please fuck me harder.”

Blondie and the rest laugh, with Tattoos reaching over to toy with Ian’s nipples and Bruiser giving his dick a teasing slap, but Mickey shifts uncomfortably. He’s not expecting Ian to actually mean what he says but rather than being a turn on, watching his boyfriend be forced to degrade himself like this only makes the weird guilt get stronger.

Mickey finds himself tuning out for a bit, working his way through a cigarette and another beer as the men continue to go to town on Ian. Tattoos takes Blondie’s place once he’s finished with this round on Ian’s ass while Bruiser steps up to fuck his mouth so roughly that Ian’s face is covered in saliva and come by the time they’re finished. The others join in too, slapping him and spitting on him, working the neck of a beer bottle inside his ass and forcing him to deepthroat another one, making him lick their boots and scrawling obscenities across his pale skin, before jerking off on him or in him until Ian’s covered with more come than Mickey’s ever seen in one place.

By the time Mickey comes back to himself, most of the guys are soft and buzzed from the beer and the free sex. Bruiser seems to have taken his place as master of ceremonies as he stands behind Ian, one hand in his hair as he holds him up on his knees, on display for the rest of the group. “You had enough, bitch?”

Ian nods weakly. “Y-Yes, sir.”

“What do you say to these nice gentleman for giving you the fucking a dumb slut like you so desperately needed?”

Ian’s breath hitches, his chest heaving with pain and exhaustion as he whispers, humiliated, “Thank you for fucking me.”

The men laugh and Ian yelps when Bruiser lands a hard slap to his sore ass. “Good boy.” His hand moves to curl around Ian’s throat, holding him back against his body as he says, “Now, we’re gonna leave you and your boyfriend to it, but you made a real mess in here, didn’t you?”

He gestures to the tabletop Ian’s kneeling on, which is now coated with spunk, spit and beer, and squeezes his throat harder when he doesn’t respond. 

“Yes,” Ian gasps. “I’m sorry, please-”

“Clean it up,” Bruiser orders, “and maybe Milkovich here will go easy on you.”

Ian doesn’t look at Mickey when he nods. “Yes, sir.”

He slumps as soon as Bruiser releases him but before Mickey can say anything further, he lowers his face to the table and begins cleaning up the remains of the evening’s exploits. The men trail out slowly, chuckling amongst themselves as Ian, still bound and filthy, licks up the come and beer that’s dripped off and out of him over the last couple of hours.

Silence descends when it’s just the two of them, punctuated only by the sound of Ian’s mouth on the table and his occasional whimper of exertion when he moves in a way his aching body disagrees with. 

Mickey can’t do anything but watch, horrified at himself more than anything else, until Ian finishes up. He crawls over to him, shivers of exhaustion and humiliation wracking his shoulders as he kneels at Mickey’s feet and asks hopefully, “A-Am I forgiven?”

Mickey swallows past the lump in his throat and tries to keep his tone as neutral as possible when he says, “Sure, Gallagher. We’re square.”

Ian sags in relief and looks up at him with genuine gratitude as he says, “Thank you. I’m so sorry, Mickey.”

The sight makes Mickey’s chest tighten with guilt. Sure, he’d been mad at Ian, mad enough to force him into all this, but after everything that just happened, it feels wrong for Ian to be the one apologising.

Still, the Milkovich pride is a stubborn beast and Mickey just manages to give him a small nod as he says, “Don’t let it happen again, asshole.”


End file.
